


Sin

by dashingdiscofox



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashingdiscofox/pseuds/dashingdiscofox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You again, uh?” he says in a sigh, knowing that he is probably just talking to some crazy nostalgic brainfarting part of his mind.<br/>“Of course”, the other retorts like it’s a normal thing for him to be there. But it is not. Dick Grayson should not be sitting at the end of his bed.</p><p>JayDick<br/>The rating is for later chapters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entry 1

The mattress gives out a squeak, which is enough to wake him up. Noises are scarce in the rectory at night, and Jason has never been a heavy sleeper. Even if now his new function comes in theory with long and peaceful nights of undisturbed silence, that’s something that he cannot –wants not to– change. 

He straightens quickly, already clear from any sleep haze. His jaw tightens at the sight of what –who– is responsible for this perturbation.   
Him again, just sitting there at the end of the bed. He ought to stop dreaming about him. Again for the third time now, he sees him sitting there, smiling at him.   
It’s getting repetitive.

“You again, uh?” he says in a sigh, knowing that he is probably just talking to some crazy nostalgic brainfarting part of his mind.

“Of course”, the other retorts like it’s a normal thing for him to be there.   
But it is not. Dick Grayson should not be sitting at the end of his bed. This dream doesn’t take long to irritate him. Jason grumbles, also sitting on the creaky old mattress.

“Why am I even asking you?”

It’s a dream, just a stupid dream of Grayson he’s tired of having. Yet again , asking his own brain to reveal to him the mysteries of life using the imaginary mouth of the first Robin is utterly vain.  
He doesn’t like dreams anyways. When he wakes up covered in icy sticky sweat in the middle of the night not even knowing what the hell the scream dying strangled in his throat was about, he remembers how he hates them. This one is no exception, despite its lack of crowbar and explosives. 

He tries to focus on waking up, but it seems that he just cannot escape that strangely too lucid vision. The older man chuckles while getting himself on his feet.

“It’s weird.”

Even his dreams agree with him. Common sense wants him to simply close his eyes, waiting for this corny phantasy to end, but Jason finds himself asking wearily:

“What is?”

Well, that was stupid to ask. Maybe he’s mumbling in his sleep. That makes him glad he sleeps alone.

“You know… You being a priest and all.”

If he believed any of this subconscious mumbo jumbo, he could almost think that this is some concealed truth about himself. But he prefers to rely on facts.

“It isn’t and you know why” he replies, more harshly that he intended to.

Maybe what is angering him is the expression on his face, those blue eyes pinned on him like he’s telling something important. That is some true to life dream thought, as annoying as the real thing.

“No, I don’t. You tell me.”

Jason glares as the cold tone makes his voice sharp.

“No.”

He is not telling his own dream the story of his life for fu– Oh yeah, that’s right. He’s supposed to stop swearing. Not an easy task. That answer seems to disappoint the imaginary Grayson who starts to pace across the room after a short scowl.

“I see there is no improvement in you social skills.”

That rebuke sounds pawky; Jason knows that it takes more to hurt him, way, way more. But there’s no way Dick Grayson is in his rectory right now, poking the cross on the wall.

“You’re a dream. Why should I bother?”

The smirk coming across Dick’s face, still twiddling the crucifix like some goddamn interior decorator, doesn’t please him one bit. Crap, that’s right, no more swears.

“Am I now?” the older one replies, trying to look wicked without succeeding to cast away that natural honest smile of his.

That dream is taking too long, far too long. Jason skips from mild annoyance to a deeper irritation. He has seen enough of this.

“Shut up” he rumbles as the other seems finally satisfied with the cross hanging upside down.

Tired of being there, spurning his own imagination, he buries stubbornly his face in the pillow, wishing to be alone again next time he’ll open his eyes. Those dreams always leave him waking in gloom. But at least they’re not about crowbars and digging himself out of a tiny box.   
Weird, this thought does not lighten him up at all.


	2. Entry 2

Morning comes with none of its rumored gentleness, just the awful feeling of waking up from sleeping on rails. 

Thanks to those recurrent apparitions of the Boy Wonder, his nights are less and less restful. But then again, this is a dream, though, nothing more. Random information taking form in his sleeping brain, that’s all. 

He’s certainly not suddenly taken by some unexpected nostalgia. No, not him. He will not start to be distracted this way by dreams. 

As he rises, Jason is relieved to see his room empty once again, the way he likes it, simple, clean, incredibly normal. He must admit that all of this is weird. 

This is the room of father Todd. He’s not yet accustomed to think that he is this man, but it’s not something he will begin to doubt just because the Dick from last night said so. He’s living the life of father Todd because that’s what he chose and because that’s what he had to do. But the whole situation is weird, he cannot hide it. 

The weirdest of all must be to wake up without any pain of some sort. No contusion, no cuts, just plain old scars. The first morning, he thought he was dead. But since the dreams started it’s different.

He stretches with a grunt, his back feeling stiff for no good reason. Then he sees it, the cross on the wall, upside down. He stares at it for a while, puzzled. 

That thing was in the right position when he went to bed. What if…? 

No. 

He sweeps away the idea like an irritating fly. That was a dream, he is certain of it. Dick isn’t there and he did not touch the crucifix. That’s a mere coincidence. 

Frowning, he replaces abruptly the ornament.

Will he have to take pills to enjoy a good night of sleep? Or maybe use the bottle of scotch his predecessor poorly tried to hide in the rectory? That would be quite a sight, father Todd the drunken priest, father Todd stuffing himself with Valium. 

He takes a deep breath and regains his composure. He has to; there’s a baptism today and he needs all of his patience to bear the cries of children who don’t understand why the hell -sorry Baby Jesus- the strange man in a robe is trying to drown them in front of their family. At least it’s not a funeral. 

Once sure that the cross won’t move again, he heads toward the old commode. Ignoring the pile of fabric in the bottom of the drawer, he dresses himself, trying not to forget the roman collar like he often does. Without it, no one believes he is in fact a priest. 

He admits again, this is weird. 

And he’s tired.


	3. Entry 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one IS NSFW so this is where the rating starts making sense.

He wakes in a hurry, surprised by a sudden sound.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you…”

Not him again. He wants to throw a pillow at the walking shadow.

“Really, I’m so clumsy! I can’t believe myself.”

He has the cross in his hands. The cross Jason replaced this very morning.

“It fell” the dream explains. “I mean… I was trying to put it back like I left it but it fell. It’s not my fault, the tie broke.”

Again with the blabber.

“So? How was your day? How did the mass go? Was it even a mass today? It’s Friday after all. By the way, do you have the weekends off or are you on a full time shift?”

He swiftly perches himself on the commode nearby, swinging his legs like a child.

“You don’t talk much. I’ll take it as a good sign. You only talk when you’re about to fight. And I don’t come here looking for a fight.”

A pause. He’s probably waiting for Jason to ask him the reason of his nocturnal visits. He doesn’t comply, letting the silence linger and turn awkward.

“You don’t want to know? Fine. I won’t tell you.”

He purses up his lips in a frustrated pout, crossing his arms. Such a child. Then he blows on a wild strand of hair that is falling weirdly over his eyes, disturbing his haughty manners.

“Ugh. You’re getting dull, Jay!”

He finally lets his arms fall to his sides and then try to comb the unruly hairs with his fingers. Jason notices the clothing of the mirage and wonders why his brain chose such a lousy set of colors. Dick looks like an old felt pen drawing. Is this a moose knitted under that rainbow? Or an ugly tree? He can’t tell in the darkness. And greenish pants? Really?   
Nobody told him his circus years are over.

“It’s quite cozy, here. You have a big room. It’s a bit gloomy, but I guess it’s the rock walls’ doing. It’s actually pretty, if you’re into medieval style… I think it’s called “gothic”. At least you don’t have gargoyles…”

He would never leave him be, would he? Lurking, half sitting on the furniture like he’s ready to jump on him. Maybe he is about to jump. That makes Jason shift in a defensive position on the bed, slowly sitting and watching him.

“Don’t be so aggressive. I won’t bite…”

The smirk stamped in his face tells otherwise. His voice is clashing with the silence of the night, disturbing the room’s stillness.

“You looked tired. I thought being a priest was a peaceful job, somehow. Listening to people stories all day long, reading the Bible and stuff. I agree I know nothing about it. You have to feel alone sometimes… All these people, they’re here for themselves, not you…”

He won’t shut up. Of course he won’t. He never shuts up.

“Anyway, I’m not here to… demoralize you, after all.”

He slides down to the ground, seemingly floating. Fucking acrobats. Damn. No swears.

“In fact… I’m here to… cheer you up.”

Jason almost snickers at that.

“Maybe even help you with your sleep, who knows!”

He wants to snap at him that if he wasn’t disturbing him all the time, maybe he could finally sleep, but the sight of the first Robin initiating a strip tease right before him leaves him aghast. He now truly realizes how he had neglected his sexual needs since he became a priest as his cock stirs awake.   
Dick undulates, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. OK, it’s not really a strip tease, but the way he writhes out of his… ugly thing… and tosses it away on the floor…   
No, really, for that horrid shirt. It looks like a colorblind made it. Anyway, Jason doesn’t care for it anymore. It’s way better off.   
Wait… No, it isn’t.   
The… hallucination –yes, the whole thing has to be dream– chuckles low as he shifts, slowly wriggling his masterpiece of a butt to get his pants off. And Dick used to strut around commando so…

“Fuck” Jason hisses, looking away.

Everywhere, anywhere but the smooth curve of his ass in the dim light, the sharp line of his hips, the smug look he’s giving him… Damn, those dreams are realistic.

“Now we’re talking” whispers the standing man, pleased by the priest’s awe.

He takes one step nearer, but stops, frowning.

“I always manage to forget about the shoes. Sorry. Won’t be long.”

And then he… bends over. Jason grips the bed sheets. Now his body is not just betraying him, it’s mutinying all over the place. Dick is folded in two, twiddling with his feet, and God does he want to touch…

“Voilà! Done.” 

That smile is perfect. It almost doesn’t upset him when he climbs on the bed with him. Then he realizes this is wrong. Worse than wrong. He can’t. He really, really can’t. Having a naked Dick Grayson at hand in a bed when you’re doing your best not to sin anymore is not a good idea.

“Why don’t you lay down, Jay?”

His eyelids flutter shut. His name never sounded so… enjoyable before. And when exactly did Grayson get under the bed sheets?

“Ooh. Is it your rosary or are you happy to see me?”

Jason snorts. This is ridiculous.

“Finally you smile! I thought you had a British-butler-face class with Alfred or something.”

He truly never stops talking. He wants to tell him to shut up but he’s afraid he’d just… agree to something he’s not sure he can have if he does.

“Lay down” the former Robin insists.

Jason actually feels the hand pushing on his chest and it sends shivers down his spine. The palm is warm and a bit clammy. Under the shock of being touched for the first time by his hallucination, he obeys and falls back onto the pillows.

“Good.”

The hand gently trails to the side of his face, the thumb petting his cheek. Jason knows his adopted big brother is staring at him intently and he tries a glance. He immediately regrets, struck by the flawless look meeting his. The cornflower irises are a thin line around his huge, dilated pupils, making his stare dark with lust.   
Jason swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Dick bites his lower lip, following the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“Jay…” he murmurs.

Now he wants to grip his nape, get those annoying hair out of those sultry eyes and kiss the words out of him. But he won’t. Or at least he’ll try.   
Dick is now… hugging him? He guesses it would be a hug if he wasn’t wrapping his flexible legs around his and wasn’t breathing in the crook of his neck.

“I want you, Jay.”

Jesus, he didn’t need that. It’s a small miracle he doesn’t buck his hips forward. Fucking words. Fucking Dick Grayson. Wait, that actually sounds good…

“I think you want me too, right?”

The mirage kisses his jaw, nuzzling the shell of his ear. A pant escapes him.

“You want me to spread my legs for you, don’t you?”

Jason grits his teeth. The hand leaves his face and goes from his shoulder to his torso. The butterfly kisses go down to his collarbone. He’s warm. He’s so warm and human and there and… and aroused that it freezes him. Then Dick just humps against his thigh, moaning lightly and his fingers twitch.   
He needs to touch, but he knows… he knows it would be the end of him. Now there’s a tongue, hot and moist, squirming under his chin. A short cry of pure wanton makes his way through his shut lips. There’s a small bite then and Jason can’t help throwing his head back a little.

“I knew you would like that” coos the first Robin.

So he starts a biting path down his chest, his fingers finally settling on his hips, so close. Too close. Dick disappears under the blanket, now being a slow moving bulge to Jason’s eyes. He switches teeth for open kisses when he reaches the priest’s navel, licking and blowing on his now damp skin. He still goes south, reaching the line where an elastic band should rest if only Jason wasn’t dumb enough to sleep in the nude. He stops, forever a tease, leaving time for Jason to find a normal breathing pattern again. He feels Dick’s warmth inches from his cock, waiting. He’s torn.   
He’s torn because he’s a fucking priest, for Christ’s sake. And still, he knows he’s profusely leaking right now and he never wanted someone so hard in his life. 

He wants to shut Dick up for good, to make him whine, he wants to thrust, to shove himself deep in his throat, he wants to make him swallow him whole, to lick, he wants him to choke on him, to suck… He’s distracted because perfect lips are moving again. It’s definitely his favorite part of Dick’s face. Right now, his mouth is near outclassing his butt in the sexiness billboard. He feels puffs of air over him and understands Dick is hovering, lips parted, tongue stuck out, and ready to submit to his every need.   
He finds the will to move, at last, letting his fingers dig into the soft strands of black hair, keeping him still in a strong grip. All he has to do is move forward. But he has the sudden realisation he shouldn’t do it, that he should put an end to this. Now. Now or it would be way too late. 

He doesn’t back away, but he pushes the other man with a panicked violence.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Just like that, the room goes cold.

“So you don’t want me?” Dick barks, jumping out of the bedsheet, his nostrils fluttering in fury.

Then Jason snaps, a sudden anger showing up.

“Are you fucking dense? I am a priest! I took vows! I swore not to do that!”

All the sensuality of the last moments seems to disappear the second his voice bursts out. The older man hisses, storming off the bed. He puts his clothes back on in a matter of seconds, growling and muttering hateful words under his breath. He glares at Jason one last time, jaw and fists clenched.   
He stomps furiously away, stopping only to swipe everything that was on his desk, pushing papers and miscellaneous objects on the ground. The small lamp makes an awful noise of breaking glass when it hits the floor. Jason winces at the sharp sound and by the time he opens his eyes Dick has disappeared in the shadows.   
He’s alone again, the sound of his own breathing like a troubled rasp in the sudden silence.   
There is no way he’s sleeping after that. Or is it another dream? Yes, a dream, it’s just a dream, nothing more. A sick dream maybe.

Dick isn’t there, Dick wasn’t there. He grabs the thin blanket. No, he is not trembling. His heart is racing: if it is of excitation, anger or fear, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. It isn’t the right time to ask questions. That would be vain, empty, and dangerous. He swears again… 

Stupid dreams.


	4. Entry 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's quite short, but the next is going to make up for it.

He rubs his eyes and he smiles, a warm, soothing yet sober smile. He knows it because he practiced it countless times; the smile that makes people trust you. 

That simple face motion is one of the deadliest weapons of deception, and he had the best teacher. The one who taught him the power of smiling wasn’t even aware of it, though. 

How ironic. 

An old man shakes his hand, thanking him. Another one, another mass; he is tired. His smile writhes, crumbles. He knows how to fake, always had, but he’s exhausted. 

No one notices. He’s Father Todd, some unruffled figure on which people come spill their troubles, no weakness allowed, not very different from his former job after all. 

The church slowly empties as the few devouts take their leave. A handful lingers, looking at him with a shy discomfort. Jason holds back a sigh. 

Confession.

Then he sees him, sitting at the back of the nave. A glimpse. It takes a missed heartbeat to the priest to understand that it’s not him. The man who rises doesn’t even look like him.

He is tired, so tired. 

He kept hearing his voice calling his name, or others, all day long. He can’t take it anymore. But he has to. Dick Grayson is not here. That is what he keeps telling himself since the morning when the first thing he saw opening his eyes was the mess on his desk. 

He looks at that ornamented wooden box near the chancel. The first time he entered it, it felt so oppressive, almost toxic. He knows now that he’s in the good compartment, the one where you don’t have to avow anything. 

Jason then proceeds to the confessional, sitting in the cushioned bench on his side of it. Loosening his roman collar he waits, smelling wood and shame. Someone enters.   
And it begins. 

They are a few, but it’s pretty much the same, all the time. A woman hides a bottle of whisky in her son’s toy box. Another envies the pool of her neighbour. A man lied to insurance… Someone else enters. Jason hopes he’s the last. It’s a man, probably between 40 and 50 of age. Years spent to gauge people, not only for his training, but to survive, marked him.

“Please forgive for I have sinned.”

Jason is always mildly amused to hear that literary introduction. People watch too many movies. But he is not so amused today. He has to respond in the same fashion to maintain a certain trust with the confessor.

“The Lord is always good to those who adore him.”

He clears his throat, feeling a strange quaver in his voice. He can’t go on like this for all the confession. Jason then tries to establish a simpler chat.

“No need to be this formal, you can be at ease here.”

Funny, repeating something without believing. He wonders if all the priests feel that way. Maybe not. They don’t have Dick Grayson lurking every time they turn their head.

“I… I did something bad…”

And then Jason tries to imagine someone going to confession because they did a good thing. Now that would be refreshing. The man continues.

“I slept with a woman. I should not have.”

Sweet, adultery. Let’s get this over with. Somehow, Father Todd seems calm and comprehensive, the grid between them helps.

“She’s… My brother’s wife.”

Brother. 

That word rings a bell, and it shouldn’t. He swallows.

“That is indeed a sin.”

“I know it. I knew it was bad. I…”

“You knew it was dangerous, but you couldn’t refrain yourself.”

His words are too sudden, too felt. He can see the confessor move back a little. His throat feels dry again.

“What did you do?”

“I just said it, I sle-"

“How did you do it then?”

His pulse is getting crazy again. The man behind the grid jumps at the priest’s imperious request, but answers hesitantly.

“I w-waited for my brother to leave… Then we…”

“Yes?”

“We drank coffee. She was smiling at me… I kissed her.”

His hands grab the edge of his bench as he lowers his voice.

“It felt good?”

“… Yes, Father.”

He breathes in. Of course that would feel good. But he has to know.

“And then?”

“Father I’m not sure…”

“What did you do after that?”

He can feel sweat in the crook of his neck. His knuckles whiten on the edge.

“We went to her room. And we… You know…”

“Was it better than when you imagined it? How she moaned, squirmed, called your na-"

“… Father Todd?”

He’s going mad. That’s it. Completely mad. He swears he heard him, like that night. He swallows again.

“Adultery is a sin. And your family is important. You should pray your brother finds the strength to forgive you, for only God is that merciful.”

Jason says that in one trait, without breathing. The man stammers some frightened thanks and leaves. The priest sighs, falling back on the wall of the wooden box.   
What is wrong with him? That was stupid, so stupid. He buries his head in his hands. 

On to the next one.


	5. Entry 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg sorry this one's really short but I'll post the next one real soon!

He’s not there tonight. 

It should be a blessing, really, it should, yet Jason can’t sleep. He checks under his bed and behind every piece of furniture. 

It’s empty. 

That insane dream had him feeling nervous, waiting for any movement in the room. But everything is still, gently moonlit. It must be late.

Jason sighs and decides to take a stroll to get rid of his foolish febrility. He puts on a robe even if he knows no one would see him naked in his own rectory at night, and goes outside. 

The evening is calm and warm. For once, the grubby pizzeria next door is closed and silent. The mafia must have been doing its business somewhere else. The crack house behind the church’s small parcel is oddly quiet. No one is crying, yelling, or selling his virtue for rocks. 

It even smells good. The air is pure, not stinking of the city’s grime and hobo’s vomit. It smells… sugary. Spicy. Like cinnamon buns, that’s it. 

He smiles. 

Maybe it has always been that peaceful but he only notices it now. Now that fucking Dick Grayson has quit harassing him. 

Sorry, no swears. 

That must be what freedom smells like: fresh cinnamon buns. He slowly walks around the willow, following his nostrils and the sweet scent. No, really, he is happy at last. Maybe those hallucinations were a test to prove himself worthy to be a priest. That would make sense. Way more sense than just a random wet dream with a wild Dick in his room for no particular reason. The smell is intoxicating now. Maybe the pizzeria turned into a bakery. That would be nice. He could buy fresh bread every day of his life until he dies again.

That sounds terrific.

“Oh fuck.”

That sounds less terrific. 

Jason jumps and hides in the rectory’s shadow. Bat training is sometimes showing. He listens, wondering if the man muttering those words is in pain or danger.

“Man, you’re good…”

None of the above. 

Maybe the crack house is not that quiet after all. He waits and hears the telltale slurping sounds. He growls, unhappy. Does that scum really have to get his blowjob behind the church? He steps forward, intending on yelling after him and scare him for life.

“Fuck, you have, like, no gag reflex…”

He stops, a chill running down his spine. It could be any talented whore. Anyone.

“Thanks. Years of practice.”

It hits him so hard the breath is punched out of his lungs. That sultry voice…

“Fuck.”

The kneeling silhouette he can almost see must have returned to pleasuring the other one. Jason knows he should back off now. Or at least stop watching and trying to confirm his dumb feeling. But he can’t. 

He has to be sure, to know, to be certain it’s not him. It can’t be him… 

Then Dick giggles and moans around the dirtbag’s cock and Jason has to fly. 

He all but runs back to the church to hide in the confessional like a frightened child. He tries to stay calm and not to panic. 

Okay. 

Maybe it wasn’t Dick at all. Maybe the guy just sounded like him. Yeah. That must be it. The dream did not come back. 

He really needs to stop seeing him everywhere. He will just stay here for the night. He won’t be looking for him here, and he will find his room empty. Yeah. 

He’s safe here. 

For now.


	6. Entry 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last a longer one!

He doesn’t know for sure how long he has been hiding there. He hears a ticking noise somewhere and he doesn’t remember where the church’s clock is. Maybe that’s just in his head. Sleep deprivation is really starting to affect him. 

Jason wants to close his eyes and go to sleep. But if he does that, he knows he’ll be back to harass him. 

He curls up: a tiny ball on the wooden bench. Pathetic. A frightened child trying to escape dreams and delusions. How he hates him. 

Dick is not coming here. 

He’s not. 

The priest repeats that thought mindlessly like a prayer, an empty, stupid prayer. What is he thinking? That some wooden box will protect him? Even so, he repeats, shuts his eyes and repeats. 

He is not real. 

He is not there. 

He can’t. 

Jason stays, listening to the ticking telling him that time goes by. No sign of Dick Grayson. Maybe that confessional is actually protecting him. 

And then he hears a noise. 

A loud one. 

Someone is in the nave. Is it morning yet? Has he slept through the night and now people are waiting for their confession? Is it already mass time? The person enters the confessional booth. Well.

“I’m sorry” he grumbles with slumber in his throat. “I’m not doing confession at the moment.”

He needs to take his coffee before doing all this again. He straightens and notices it’s still pitch dark outside.

“You could make an exception for me I think. I’ve been looking for you all night long after all!” 

It’s him. He’s here. Jason looks up at the grid. A smirk. Blue eyes. His mouth dries in a second.

“You. You were...”

He doesn’t finish. He should escape, run maybe. He can’t.

“I need your advice, Father” he interrupts. “I’ve sinned tonight.”

Jason knows that. He heard, he saw. He knows this so damn well... 

“You see, I’ve happen to... want someone for some time now. And yes, before you ask it, it’s a man. Is that okay? I mean, I know you religious guys are not really okay with that, but I don’t think it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done so... What was I saying again? Ah, Yes. That man. He’s always been like a... I don’t know. Yeah. I could put it that way. He’s always been like a... brother to me.”

He’s not saying that. There is no way Dick Grayson is actually saying that. Even in another time, another place, that would be impossible, fucking impossible. He was always so far, so flawless... No, he needs to stop thinking about this.

“But anyway. Even though he never... tried anything with me, I wanted... more. He never said anything that I could understand as a... first step or something, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t have minded. He wouldn’t have said no to me.”

Wouldn’t have minded? He was so right. Oh shut up. Shut up. Just shut up.

“Well, I’m not exactly in his head so I guess I’ll never know. So yeah. That... lust has been killing me for years now and I just couldn’t bear it anymore. I guess you’re wondering why the hell I didn’t go see him in the first place...”

Yes, he’s wondering. He’s been fucking wondering so much, too much already. Years? Really? He opens his mouth. No, that would be useless.

“Well, I’ll tell you. I couldn’t. Actually I tried, but you see, he’s... out of reach. He has someone in his life already. Someone seemingly more important than me now...”

“Who?” he bursts out without thinking.

“Uh, just that guy named God.” 

“...I see.”

He shouldn’t be answering to him, but he does. What if it is true? It doesn’t change anything, but he’s stupid, hidden in his confessional booth, Dick’s words tying his innards in a painful knot.

“So yeah, he’s out of my league now I guess. But Father, you have no idea how much I want him! Despite all that God stuff. When I visited him, I wanted sex, you know, and I was clear about it. I’m a normal human being after all. And he let me think he was fine with it, and then he told me to get away from him! Do you see how much of a tease he is?”

“I’m sure he had his reasons...”

He’s arguing now. He argues like he prays, without believing. He is a tease. But no matter how much he wants this, he can’t. 

“Yeah, maybe he had a good reason but... I still can’t believe he did that! And I’m not proud of myself Father. I had to have my revenge...”

“How?”

Now he sounds as if he still was with that poor man yesterday. Avid, restless, getting closer to the grid. Jason swears he can hear him grinning from the other side. He’s hooked. But he has been for a long time anyway. 

“ All I wanted from him was to suck him off. To let him use my mouth any way he’d like... And he wouldn’t let me do that, so I had to find someone else. And seriously, it wasn’t hard to find...”

He saw little, but it’s enough. Enough to picture his mouth so skillfully wrapped around his cock. So slick, so warm. His mouth waters. Fuck you, vivid imagination. The priest bets the older man can hear him getting turned on despite all his will.

“I found someone that almost looked like him in some crack house. He had the same... lost, scared expression. It was all I needed. He didn’t even realize what I wanted from him until I got down on my knees and undid his pants. Then he was happy. I hoped and somehow knew he, the one I wanted in the first place, was watching. So I decided to put on a show...”

Lucky bastard. That was quite a show, he can be sure. That bastard surely grabbed his hair, yanked to make him whimper. Dear God, pushing farther into that throat, that lovely gag-reflex lacking throat. 

He discovers his own hand already buried in his pants, not waiting for his command. He presses his forehead against the grid searching for any lost syllable from him, any breath as he starts stroking himself. Oh dear God, he needs this so much. So much for his resolve, his faith and his promises. 

“Since he was so surprised, I had to stroke him at first. I guessed he would have liked it rough. Not the crackhead, the other one. He was a tough guy after all... But the one I was actually getting off complained. He probably thought I was just a common whore that had to be told how to please. I’m getting confused with the no-names. Let’s call the crackhead... John and the other one Jack.”

That is Dick Grayson alright, losing so much goddamn time on details like names. Somehow that doesn’t curb his desire. But he needs more, so he rushes him.

“And then?”

“And then I decided John was needing a blowjob. Well, actually I needed to give one so bad... And since that dumbass of Jack wouldn’t let me express myself on him... And he really liked that! I was just using my tongue a little bit on the underside and that got him hard enough to call it an erection.”

“I don’t give a shit about his erection! Get to the point”, he hissed between his ascending breaths.

It was too late to think about his resolutions about swearing. Now he was busy blessing that grid for keeping him away from the man on the other side of it.

“Why, aren’t you a little eager... I suck him off listening to Jack’s pants. Happy?”

“I wasn’t... panting...”

Then he freezes, realizing the blunder he just made. Why can’t he just shut his trap and jerk off in silence and shame? Pathetic. 

Jason sighs. 

“Of course you weren’t”, chuckles Dick. “I almost regret John came so fast! All the things I needed to do... I guess I’ll have to find another... Or maybe Jack would agree this time...?”

“Fuck, Dick”, is all he can answer.

God bless that grid. Otherwise he would be on him, more than agreeing. And it’s bad, so bad. He quickens his pace instead. 

If he wasn’t panting earlier, he clearly is now.

“I wouldn’t just boringly give my usual blowjob to Jack, no. With him, I wouldn’t lose time licking around. I would just let him free to choke me with his cock, maybe use a little teeth when I’ll try to breathe. I’d be jerking myself off at the same time, moaning around him because I know he’d love it...” 

“Yeah…”, he agrees, out of his mind.

He doesn’t need to hear it. He just knows how Dick’s moans would sound like. That sends shivers down his whole body.

“I’d swallow so hard around him, I’d clench so tightly he’d feel like he’s fucking me. Maybe that would be the next step...”

Jason tries to smother the profanity and the grunt blending in his throat and that doesn’t quite work. He comes in his hand, in shame, the grid marking his forehead. This soon. This priest thing starts to get to him. 

He stays like that for some time, feeling numb and limp, as relieved as he is guilty. 

He takes a deep breath, raises his head. The other side of the confessional stands empty before his eyes. 

Totally empty. 

He looks around, storms out of the booth as vigorously as the sluggishness of his body allows him. The church is dark and empty. 

He is the only one here.


	7. Entry 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's violence and blood in this chapter

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord, Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit... Who... 

Fuck. He doesn’t remember. And he swears again. What comes after “Holy Spirit”? 

Jason has always been great at memorization. But now, he can’t remember what comes after “Holy Spirit”. 

He rubs his eyes, it burns. He’s sore from kneeling before the altar, so he sits. He starts over. 

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord, Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit... born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified... died, and was buried... Fuck...”

It’s not in his head, but from his mouth that the profanity comes from, reverberating on the walls of the little chapel, the one in the rectory kept for private ceremonies or the priest’s use. And now, the priest needed another place to hide. He can’t sleep. And he can’t even finish one prayer. His head is full of holes, full of blanks.

He gives up, rises and searches for a Book of Common Prayer. He sits again, on a bench this time and continues. 

“He descended into Hell. The third day He arose again from the dead...”

He hates that one, all of those like it and they’re quite a bunch.

“He ascended into Heaven, sitteth at the right hand of God, the...”

A noise. 

Jason turns around. But no one is there. He thought he heard his name, thought he was done for. He needs to concentrate on the prayer, on the words. 

Dick is not there. It’s just his headache. It’s just the building creaking. 

“...sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead... from thence He shall...”

Crap, he’s been reading the same sentence over and over. Is he some stupid goldfish or what? 

“I believe in the Holy Spirit...”

God, that lucky John bastard... Focus. Focus. 

“...the holy Catholic Church, the...”

Screw John. Screw that damn grid.

“... communion of saints...”

All he had to do was to leave that booth. It was so simple.

“... the forgiveness of sins...”

He would have heard these moans, he would have made him scream. Fucking grid, fucking priest shit, fucking Dick Grayson. Oh Dear God. Focus. Focus.

“...the resurrection of the body, and the life...”

The scent of his hair, the touch of his skin radiating with heat. He knows how that would have felt. His hands clench on the book, folding the pages.

“... the life everlasting.”

He can’t focus. He remember every word from yesterday. He can’t exorcise it. He can’t bleach it from his brain.

“Amen.”

A-fucking-men. Jason throws the book away. 

That’s it. He lost it. He’s mad. 

He’s supposed to be good at memorization... 

Dick wasn’t like that. He remembers how he made a mess of his desk, how he harassed him, how he got his “revenge”. Dick wasn’t like that. He changed.   
Dick would never have done that. Because Dick, oh so fucking flawless Dick, so damn lovable Dick, was all about people. 

And people were all about him. 

Always showing off. People always asking for more, wanting their own piece of him. Always showing off, always the damn hero of the situation. And that’s exactly why Dick Grayson can’t possibly be here in his church. Not since the last six months.

Six months already. Back at that time he was dealing with a small part of the Russian mafia in Blüdhaven. He was giving them information about good ways to import drugs and arms from their general headquarters back home and they were letting him take a look at their files.   
Jason needed to find out if Scarecrow had mess with hallucinating powder again and if he was going to scare the hell out of the whole Gotham with contaminated drinkable water.   
He did find out and stopped him. 

Then, things got ugly. The boss heard about how Red Hood took down one of his biggest client here and he wanted him dead.   
When he came back to go on with their deal, a small party was waiting for him. Actually a more than twenty men or so. Nothing new there. 

He hastily got rid of the dangerous ones and destroyed most of their shipments.   
Then, fucking Boy Scout Nightwing showed up. He joked about Jason being in his town and not even stopping by to say hello. He told him to shut up and he joined the fight.   
All was doing swell until a henchman pulled out his gun. He didn’t care in the moment: He always wore a bulletproof suit and the hood protected him from headshots. Dick was going to take care the scumbag, accomplishing a perfect gymnastic routine to get closer to his opponent. 

If he knew what was going to happen, he would have pulled his own gun, thrown a knife or at least looked away.

The guy dodged the first kick and Nightwing slipped in a puddle of blood or something and he took one or two seconds more than usual to get his stance back. It was all the mobster needed to settle his gun between his brother’s shoulder blades and shoot. 

Everything happened at the same time. 

Dick lost his smile all of sudden, his knees gave way and he felt unceremoniously on the ground. 

It was the last event that made him understand. Even when he fainted, Dick was fucking poetry in motion. And there he wasn’t gracious for the first time of his life. 

Jason vaguely remembers how he killed everybody except the fucking asshole. He finished with him. He tore his eyes open with his knife, he punched him until his face was a bloody mashed mess and then he put his hood on his head. He stepped back and activated the auto destruction mode. He watched the bastard’s head blow into little pieces before actually having the guts to go fetch Nightwing.

It was a common night, common enemies and somehow he managed to die. He kneeled beside him and it was only then that Jason took the full blast of the news. 

He was dead. 

He peeled his mask off, just to be sure. He was staring into the nothingness and blood was seeping from his mouth and sticking hair to his face. There was a small sticky hole in his back and a warm pool of red around him. 

He grabbed him and felt that his supple body was slowly hardening to become a cadaver. 

He was gone. 

He was gone and Jason did nothing to save him.

Damian was the first to find them. It only took a glance for him to understand. Robin then tried to beat Jason to death for not having protecting Dick and his stupid costumed butt, pretending not to cry and yet the despair in his voice telling otherwise. 

It’s the damn suit that killed him. It was probably less bulletproof than his, and even his wouldn’t have taken the entire blow. Yes, it did wonders to show off his ass as he fancied, but the exhibitionist in him finally was his loss. 

Then Bruce happened. He was silent as usual. He pulled off his cowl. Nothing mattered. Suddenly, his whole life, his revenge, the Batman was nothing. 

Dick was dead. 

And that’s exactly why he can’t possibly be here.


	8. Entry 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I'm so, so sorry for the wait. School started again and... this got delayed. But here. At last. We'll get the last chapters in in way less of a hiatus, I promise.

Jason buries his face in his hands. He sees him everywhere, hears him, feels him.   
But Dick Grasyon is dead. He tries to believe it’s a dream.   
Still... That cross, the mess he made of his desk. All of it was real. But it can’t be.   
He’s dead.   
He was not faking it for sure. And even so, despite all logic, he shows up as usual. He doesn’t make any sound but somehow the priest still senses the sudden weight on the bench.  
“You weren’t in your bed, and not in the confessional anymore. Are we playing hide and seek and you forgot to tell me?”   
“Shut up. You’re dead”, Jason growls.  
“Yeah, I know. I was there. But heh. You’re the first one to know death means nothing, am I right?”  
He sighs, curls up a little more.  
“I saw it. I watched you die. You’re dead. You’re... not real.”  
He’s not even convinced anymore. The body sitting beside him is warm, nothing like that stiff, cold, ugly and lifeless thing he held in his arms.  
“I don’t know shit anymore!” he rages.   
“You came back. Why couldn’t I? You did it too! Why are you still so insecure? Don’t you want me back?”  
He springs to his feet, surprised by the amount of energy he still possesses to shout at him.  
“Fuck you! You know damn well I... can’t.”  
Shut up, stupid, shut up now. He hides in his hands again, standing dumbly in front of the seats.  
“You what?” Dick yells too as he stands in front of him. “You’ve been rejecting and then accepting me all around! I have no clue of what you’re thinking!”  
He wants to punch him so much. But he won't. The priest feels himself losing control.  
“I can’t! You’re not fucking real! It drives me crazy but you... Dick Grayson is dead! Understand!?”   
“Well what if he wasn’t! What if I wasn’t! You’d risk to lose it all again just to please your all mighty pride? You’re such a child, Jay!”  
He sounds so much like the real thing. Jason can’t even look at him.   
He doesn’t want to wear it, the expression Dick talked about yesterday. He doesn’t want to look lost and scared. Never again.   
He stares at some corner of the chapel. The “go away” escaping his lips sounds the hell like a “stay”. Pathetic. How he loathes himself for that.  
“I don’t want to hurt you and you know that. I’m back. Please. Just let me prove it to you.”

He clings, his hands sneak behind Jason’s back and his face hides in the crook of his neck. It takes way more time than it should for him to realize Dick is hugging him. And that it feels incredibly right.   
He closes his arms around him. Warm. Then a small, almost gentle bite under his jaw.   
The hands are grabbing, pulling at his clothes now. Dick undulates, grinds. This is too much for Jason to handle.   
His mind goes blank.   
His brother nips up to his nose and licks his lips. The priest doesn’t remember how his mouth got on his but it’s feeling way too good to complain. His tongue is warm and slick, trying to subdue his own. The grinding is more intense now, the pressure never letting go. Dick is tugging at the shirt he wears before he goes to bed. Jason nearly tears it in his rush to get rid of it and the other moans softly, already panting against his shoulder. The thing Dick wears is baby blue, he numbly notices before throwing it away. And it was glittering? No time to think about it: his brother is already half-naked and fighting with his pants. Jason attends for the second time of his second life to the removal of Dick Grayson’s pants, and it’s way better with the lights on. Dick succeeds at getting in the nude, grunts something about zippers and pushes Jason on the bench. His pajamas briefs are swiftly removed and the wood bench is cold under him. He shudders. 

Jason feels his brother’s breath against his inner thigh, big blue eyes watching him. He wasn’t lying at the confessional. He doesn’t tease and first thing the priest knows Dick is swallowing him whole. He thought he had a pretty strong imagination, but that wasn’t even close. The wet sound of his mouth sucking him sends a burning shiver through his entire body. He firmly grabs locks of black hair in reflex. He clenches his teeth but a hiss escapes him. Dick is making sweet noises around him, thick lashes fluttering and hands massaging his hips and sides. His tongue swirls gently around him when he pulls out to breathe. He knows he won’t last long if he goes on like that. But then Dick stops, untangle his fingers from his hair and straightens up to face him and sloppily kiss him. And then he... stands and goes away?   
Is he going to disappear again? Hell no. Not after days, years, of frustration and denial. Jason watches him take a few steps in his dashing nudity. The puzzled look on his face changes to amusement as the older man sets himself before the altar. Fucking Dick Grayson. Always about the show. The exacerbated and almost painful sensitivity between his legs protests, but man, what a wonder he is to watch. And things are getting interesting as soon as Dick flips on his four and lifts his butt for Jason to see... well, everything. 

He stares at the priest heavily as he starts licking his own fingers slowly. His other hand balancing himself on the ground, he spreads his legs wide enough for now being completely obscene. If someone had told him he would witness such a performance, Jason wouldn’t have believed it. Not for him, twisted, damaged, hopeless Jason.   
Dick probably decides his fingers are plenty drenched because he stops sucking at them and instead pushes the middle one up his ass with a loud moan. Spectacular.   
How is he not already at the altar joining the fun, Jason doesn’t know. Maybe he’s too amazed. How can someone be so beautiful? It’s not even physical... Well, maybe a little. But this presence, the way Dick looks at him with half-lidded eyes, it’s mesmerizing. It’s his own name, uttered by gasping lips, that snaps him back to reality. 

Dick is up to his second finger by now, shuddering every time he moves his hand in a stretching motion. He’s getting whiny, muttering Jason’s name over and over as his elbow gives way and his body stumbles forward. It’s not particularly elegant, but it’s still somewhat graceful and inviting. He cries out with the third finger, jerking and rolling his hips, and Jason can’t take it anymore.   
He stands up and all but hurls himself at Dick. He wants this so much. But not this way, not like this. How could he fuck him as this John bastard did, like some random whore with him facing the other way? After all this time, after how much he wanted him to simply look at him. Pretty pathetic, once again.  
“Fuck...”, he mutters before flipping him over on his back hastily, hands shaking slightly.   
Now that’s much better. For now, fuck vows, fuck oaths, fuck promises, regrets, guilt. And above all, fuck Dick Grayson. Having him breathless gripping his forearms and making pleading noises in the back of his throat is way better. Long legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer. 

He wants to wait. He wants to wait and look and touch every parcel of that smooth expense of skin. But he can’t. He already waited and looked and wanted for years. So he just takes Dick in a long, firm thrust, hears him gurgle a moan and throw his head back, body arching, face blissful. Jason guesses he’s supposed to give him some time, let him adjust, but he doesn’t, and Dick wails and clings at his shoulders. Too hot, too loud against the echoey walls, too good, and he’s already too close, so he shuts his eyes and keeps his mouth on the acrobat’s neck, biting down on his pulse. He feels alive, sweaty and writhing, his voice covering the slick sounds of their fucking, whispering senseless words and praises between pants. They’re going fast and desperate, tugging at each other, nails leaving trails at hips, arms, back and ass, fingers bruising and clawing down. Jason listens to his former brother’s breathing, his chest stuttering, awfully real under him, and he forgets his doubts for a moment.  
“Jay, I... I’m…”  
He knows. He doesn’t want it to end, yet he couldn’t hang on any longer. He grabs the older man’s cock and Dick screams, trashes and clenches hard around him as he comes. A muffled groan escapes Jason as he joins him over the edge, his vision blacking out.


End file.
